To Promise
by MissMarquin
Summary: Felix isn't ready for tomorrow and whatever it may bring. But at least there's Sylvain, and his stupid promise. Post-Time Skip, endgame.


_A/N: I suppose that I forgot to upload this here. Oops. _

* * *

This is it, everything comes down to this moment, right here. The smell of fire burning in the air, the sounds of metal on metal, steel on steel. Hell, even the _air_ feels charged, and he can _feel_ the thrum of it, deep in his bones. His hand clenches around the sword hilt tightly.

Felix isn't sure exactly what to expect, but he knows there will be death. He's seen it already, in the faces of those he once called friends. He's already run across them before, turning a blind eye when he shouldn't, because despite everything, he just _couldn't-_

It's stupid, Felix thinks. He's above this. He's trained for this, to be able to kill on command, to avenge without a second thought. To feel nothing, when his sword slices through flesh.

But it's different when you face it head on. He cannot ignore that tightness that pulls across his chest, when he finds someone familiar, hours later and face down in the mud. Lifeless eyes, once full of warmth.

Sometimes, that warmth had even been directed towards him, no matter how much he loathed it.

"Felix," Sylvain says from his side, but he refuses to look. Instead he trains his eye on the Capitol and-

"_Felix_," Sylvain says once more, this time his tone quiet and calculated.

Felix can tell that his friend is barely hanging on, that he doesn't want this. And he doesn't want it either, he finally admits. Who would want to?

"Dimitri is gone," Felix finally replies. "Claude has his schemes, but let's be honest here- what are our chances?" His breath shutters slightly. "We'll be lucky to-"

"Do you remember our promise?" Sylvain interrupts.

"_Idiot_," Felix instantly mutters. "Now isn't-" he hisses, but Sylvain doesn't relent.

"_Do you?"_

Felix hates the insistence of his voice. "Of _co_urse," he snaps, almost offended. As he could ever forget such a ridiculous notion from their childhood. And even as an adult, even if feelings have _shifted_, even if Felix does his best to drown them out with training and working himself until he's too tired to care, to notice, to _think_ anymore.

He hates the look on Sylvain's face, when he finally turns to him. His friend's lips pulled into a frown, tugged tightly at the corner. He doesn't look at Enbarr, he watches Felix instead, as if he were on the edge of saying something stupid.

But he doesn't, thank the fucking Goddess.

* * *

At least at first.

Sylvain waits until they set up camp. There's a lull in the fighting as they march, and they take the rare moment to rest. They eat a meager dinner, flavored only by the desperation that hangs over their army. This is the end, Felix thinks again. Some of these people won't make it back.

Sylvain waits until night falls dark and the air turns crisp. Its unsafe to light fires, so they huddle in groups, sharpening swords and oiling leather. So many mindless activities to distract.

Anything, to distract.

Felix is no different. His dinner sits like lead in his stomach, as he swipes a grinding stone down the edge of his blade.

He sits alone beside his bedroll, because people avoid him. Not that he complains.

Until Sylvain steps next to him wordlessly, shaking out his bedroll and placing it suspiciously close to his own. Felix glares at the man.

"Not a word," Sylvain huffs, dropping to his cot and groaning at the stretch of his legs.

"Not a one," Felix agrees. He doesn't expect the barest of grins on Sylvain's face in return, the signature quirk of his lips.

He isn't prepared for how empty it feels.

* * *

The camp is quiet.

Sylvain's breathing is even at his side and Felix would be lying if his old friend wasn't a comfort. He wasn't sure actually- when _this_ became a thing- but it was as effortless as their friendship was.

Not that Felix would ever admit that.

"You've always been quiet, but I've never seen you think so hard."

Felix doesn't jump, but he is surprised, because Sylvain is decidedly _not_ asleep.

"Not everyone is unnecessarily _boisterous," _Felix hisses, pointing the jab directly at the man himself.

Sylvain chuckles, but its flat and empty. "Yeah, I suppose." His tone sounds dead, and it turns Felix's stomach. "Hey Felix, remember-"

"_Yes_, I fucking remember," he snaps, before the question can even be finished.

Sylvain is quiet for a beat, and then- "I was going to ask, _remember what_ it's like to be alone?" He pauses in hesitation. "Have you figured out _why_ I keep reminding you? It's not just _some fucking childhood promise_ anymore."

Felix starts slightly at that, frozen stiff under his thick blanket. His heart pounds at the implication, and half of him wants Sylvain to continue.

The other half wants to run away, run _far_ away, before the other man does something stupid.

"Tomorrow we go out there and we will probably die."

"We _will not_," Felix contradicts harshly, but Sylvain laughs, and this time it's a bitter and dark thing.

"Who are we fooling, Felix?"

Felix grinds his teeth, but doesn't answer.

Sylvain sighs. "We made a promise," he says quietly. He's said it so many times over the years that Felix expects to be tired of the words, but when face to face with the possibility that he might not ever hear them again-

No, _no,_ this wouldn't do.

"To stick together until we die," Felix answers quietly. He never finishes the thought. Instead, he always snaps angrily, while Sylvain smiles slyly at his annoyance.

"That's not good enough anymore," Sylvain confesses. "I just want to-" He sighs again, instead of finishing his thought.

"If we die tomorrow," Felix replies softly, "then we die together. If we don't-"

_"No,_" Sylvain pleads, "Don't promise something that you don't intend to keep."

"_It's not enough anymore_. That's what you said."

"Felix-"

"You're right," Felix says, not caring if he's outed himself. He hears the hitch in Sylvain's breath and Felix swallows thickly around the awkward words. "Tomorrow we either die together or we… this… _us-_" Felix closes his eyes, unaccustomed to sharing his feelings. Or feeling anything, really, aside from massive disdain for everything that wasn't his red-haired friend.

And even then, Sylvain _barely_ toes that line. Or so Felix tells himself to sleep better at night.

For once, Sylvain doesn't say anything, and Felix thinks that they are done with this topic- but then warm fingers graze his own, and he realizes that Sylvain has reached between them.

Felix relaxes into the grip, curling their fingers together, as they stare at the night sky. Sylvain squeezes, rubbing his thumb along the back of his palm. They both think. They contemplate, they strategize, they soak up the comfort.

Neither lets go. Neither says anything else.

They just enjoy their peace.

They'd figure out their shit out tomorrow, or die trying.


End file.
